


Pas de Deux

by agoldenbear



Category: Classical Ballet, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-01-07 09:15:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agoldenbear/pseuds/agoldenbear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Christmas in Maine and ballerina Belle French is looking forward to her favorite tradition: staging The Nutcracker. This year is different however, when Callum Gold is brought in as a guest art director for the production.</p><p>Written for Rumbelle Secret Santa 2013.</p><p>Explicit in later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

It was a magical time of year in Maine. Snow fell in large floating flakes as Belle watched people pass by outside the full-length window. The sweet smells of cinnamon and balsam trees lingered in the normally stale studio air and cheery lights and garlands were everywhere. Christmas music had begun to play, too, and though many complained it was too early for holiday music, it was Belle’s favorite part of the season. Every time she heard the opening of theme ofTchaikovsky’s  _The Nutcracker_  she felt her heart quicken with excitement. Belle had looked forward to the production every year since the first time she had seen it as a little girl, and dreamed of dancing in Clara’s place. She had danced many other roles, but that particular dream had never come true; however, each December brought a new chance for her to live out her ambitions.

"I’m sure it won’t be long now, Belle.”

Belle started, pulled out of her daydream by her friend Ariel’s voice. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and bring her back to the conversation at hand.

"You’re talented and like it or not, Regina will have to see it eventually." Ariel looked over at her friend from her own bar stretch she was performing.

"Perhaps." Belle’s voice was doubtful as she lowered herself to the floor so she could slip on her pointe shoes. "I’ve been working as hard as I can and I can’t seem to reach the level she expects from me."

A final twist and tuck of the satin ribbon on the inside of her ankle and Belle got to her feet. She experimentally flexed in the new shoes before gracefully lifting herself en pointe.

"You do that so beautifully," Ariel sighed and smiled at her friend. “You have arches to die for.”

Looking down, Belle suppressed a sigh. The shoes, while good quality, still refused to conform as they should. However, the company had neither the time nor money to spend finding the perfect fit for shoes that were not going to be used by the principals. A young corps member was not top priority. Nevertheless, Belle had always made the most of what she had. All she  _really_ needed to dance was herself.

"Thank you," Belle could not help but smile back as she did a pirouette and then a leap. She couldn’t help but laugh as she landed and turned back with a flourish. "I’ll need to be at my best for auditions."

Of course Belle did not expect she would get anything, except perhaps a small solo like last year. Regina, owner and self-appointed art director, had been extremely critical of her skills, though in all fairness Regina was harsh with everyone. It was the price one paid in dues for the honor of working in a prestigious company.

Belle had worked hard and sacrificed much to be where she was now. Private lessons (all paid for by assistant teaching of younger students), hours spent after school working until her instructors turned the lights out on her, grueling travel to competitions, and frustrated tears when she was told ‘Next year.’ Always next year.

Hard work and perseverance had finally paid off in the form of a full scholarship to a small dance program in Oregon. Once she had been able to focus solely on dance, she had thrived.  When she had finished her training she had auditioned for jobs all along the east coast in hope of being closer to her fiancé.

She had met Gavin through a friend in college and though he wasn’t everything she had dreamed of when she was a young girl, he was steady. Her friends all told her how lucky she was, how happy and well cared for she would be once Gavin finished his doctorate and started his dentistry practice.  _Well cared fo_ _r._ The phrase had struck Belle at the time, and it had stayed with her; it was as though she was a pet who waited all day for her master to come home, simply hoping to be thrown a bone once in a while.

Once again Ariel’s voice brought her back from her inner musings with a simple comment. “Yes, especially since Regina won’t be the only one judging,” the redhead said as she changed her position at the bar and Belle joined her to begin her pliés.

“I’m so nervous Ariel, but I know I can do well. I’ve been practicing every night after hours for weeks,” Belle said her voice strong and certain. “I just need one chance to impress them both. This could be exactly what I’ve been waiting for.”

*

“Attention, please.”

Most of the time when Regina walked into a room—and certainly when she spoke—it was enough to arrest the attention (and movement) of everyone in her presence. She entered the studio as if she owned it (and in fact she did). By contrast, the man who stood beside her was less forceful with his power, but it was clear in the casual way he held his own that he was a man to be respected. He carried a cane, and though he didn’t lean heavily on it, it was an easy thing to fixate on.

“This is Callum Gold. He will be overseeing this year’s production of The Nutcracker.”

Many in the room had heard the name before, and their excitement (and anxiety) at being in his presence was palpable. If they were hoping for a long introduction, they were to be disappointed. Mr. Gold said only a few words: “I’m excited to share the adaption and I trust you will all rise to my occasion.”

Though her fellow dancers were quiet in the face of the daunting proclamation, Belle couldn’t help but smile at the prospect of such a challenge. The chance to work with someone she had read about in the numerous books she had studied over the years was an exciting part of her career. Callum had been a great dancer, largely because of the training he received when he was sent to Russia at the age of five. It was an incredibly young age to be separated from family, but his father had insisted Callum become the best—even if that meant sacrificing their relationship. It had been all over the ballet community when he had been forced to end his career prematurely. An acute case of crippling tendonitis had effectively stopped him from dancing for longer than a handful of minutes. There were rumors that the pressure to be perfect had been too much and he had intentionally overworked an injury, but they were just that: rumors.

“Something amuses you, Miss French?”

Startled out of her reverie, Belle blushed at being singled out.

“Not at all, Miss Mills. I’m very excited to begin.” Her voice was humble and though she told herself not to look, she found her eyes were drawn to the silent man at Regina’s side.

“Good.” Regina’s eyes swept the rest of the room for any other expression of dissension and, finding none she could critique, she said, “Back to work, everyone. Callum will observe for the rest of the day after we conclude our business.”

As they left, Belle went back to her friends as Ariel and Aurora came over to talk about what had just happened. Unbeknownst to her, Callum had turned to take a last appraising look at Belle before exiting the room.  

*

No matter how many times Belle had gone through the process, auditions still remained a daunting prospect. To help calm her nerves, she had developed a consistent habit of mental and physical preparation. She went over her steps in the her head, counting the beats and tracing the movements of her arms. She tried not to watch Mary Margaret, the Principal of the company and a favorite of the donors who kept the studio running, but she could not help it. Even under duress, Mary Margaret was calm and controlled. Her hands were delicate and her face relaxed, the very picture of ease and effortlessness. She was a phenomenal dancer who always served to inspire Belle to reach her greatest potential. Belle took a deep breath as the last bars of the piano melody played and Mary Margaret finished her last turn with a graceful flourish and a smile.

In spite of herself (and a hundred reprimands from Regina), Belle chewed her bottom lip to quell the butterflies in her stomach. It was a difficult thing to go last, especially after a principal, but she was ready; this was her chance and she meant to seize it. She glanced to where Callum sat, his eyes serious and his face a placid mask, giving away nothing as Mary Margaret bowed.

“Thank you,” Callum said. His voice, thick with his natural brogue, was a curt dismissal Belle was not used to hearing directed at Mary Margaret. She reminded herself to take a deep breath, relax, and let her passion shine through.

“Next please.”

Belle took a confident step forward before Regina’s voice stalled her movement: “That’s all, actually.”

Regina gave a curt smile as she gathered up her papers. Naked shock colored Belle’s features and for a moment the world lost its sound. A whole year of heartfelt waiting, planning,  _dreaming_ , all for nothing? She felt tears prick behind her eyes, adding to the blatant humiliation in front of the rest of the company that was making her face feel entirely too hot.

“What about—” Ariel tried to raise her voice, but Regina raised her hand, effectively silencing the red-haired soloist. Ariel looked to Belle, anger and sympathy in her eyes, but Belle shook her head.  _Drop it_. The last thing she needed was Ariel getting a part taken away from her or—heavens forbid—demoted permanently.

Callum raised his eyebrow at the proceedings before him, clearly aware that something was not as it should be. Internal politics were a part of any company and for whatever reason, things were the way that they were. He looked at the wronged dancer, his curiosity piqued; when Belle noticed the weight of his gaze on her, she thought surely he would intervene. A bubble of hope rose in her heart when his brown eyes met her clear blue ones, shining with unshed tears. For a fleeting moment she forgot how to breathe.

“Let’s move on then, shall we?”

The bubble abruptly burst.  _No_.

The next thing she knew, Belle was in the bathroom trying to stem a tide of tears that felt as if they would never end. She had so hoped—and  _worked_ —for the opportunity! But there would be other parts, she told herself firmly, as she had many times before. Life was not always fair and people did not always get what they deserved, but she could not let that steal her passion; instead, it gave her all the more reason to work harder and prove those who doubted her ability wrong. Belle dashed away her tears, splashed cold water on her face, and looked squarely into her own eyes in the mirror. There she saw fire, the determination of which she had always been so proud, and she wondered if that was what Callum had seen when he had looked at her, or if he had only seen her disappointment.

No matter. This was her profession and in all things she must be just that: professional. She would practice harder and longer, and study all she could, until until she was a force that could not be ignored, not by Regina, Callum, or anyone else who wanted to hold her back.

*

Callum Gold ran his hand over the piano, depressing a few keys in a simple melody he had learned as a child. Dark studios that had once felt hopelessly large and terrifying had become the place he was most comfortable. From a young age he had been taught that the only thing he had to fear was fear itself and fearless he had been, performing impossibly high jumps, difficult lifts and, above all else, taking center stage each and every night for years without rest.

Thankfully he had some reprieve now. His father, the miserable man who had kept him at arm’s length all his life while also trying to control his destiny, was stuck in a prison in Thailand. With no one to bail him out, Callum was reasonably sure he would be tied up for several months, unable to appear on his doorstep unannounced to guilt his only son into lending him money, only to give unwelcome commentary on Callum’s life. After all, no matter how many glowing reviews, accolades, and awards he had received over the years, his father had never been satisfied; the man had an incredible knack for twisting the razor sharp knife of disappointment deeper into his son’s back at every opportunity. It was not something Callum missed.

A brief flicker of light in the darkness caught his attention and disrupted his thoughts. It was as if a door had swung open and shut nearby. Callum frowned; he was certain he had locked the entrance. He stood and walked carefully toward the doorway. He wondered for a brief moment if the light had been a conjuring of his own making, but when a light flipped on in the adjoining studio it became clear he was not alone. He walked into the hallway and saw the reason.

It was the girl from earlier in the afternoon, Belle, he thought her name was, who had clearly been denied a chance to audition. She was finishing a few stretches, obviously having warmed up in the changing room beforehand. She meant to practice on her own, late at night and with a full day’s practice behind and before her. For the first time since coming to Maine, Callum smiled.

Now he  _had_  to know why exactly she had been denied. If her breaking and entering had also meant stealing, Regina would have caught her and she would have been fired long ago. No, it was something else. Things were never as straightforward as they seemed in a company and flat-out refusing to let an able dancer audition meant personal bias was at hand. Politics were part of any ballet with good talent, of course, but the specifics were different at each. He relished getting to know all the secrets these dancers, their muses, and their masters kept. and finding ways to make his time at each company much more … amusing. 

“Going somewhere, dearie?” He said casually as he came up behind her, silent as a shadow until he spoke.

Callum enjoyed when his voice made people jump, particularly girls who were skittish of him and his reputation. The girl in question did jump; however, after she straightened her back to face him he surmised that it was not out of fear so much as surprise that she had been caught.  _So it is not her first time …_

“What are you doing here?” The girl had the nerve to ask, and Callum nearly laughed.

“What am I doing here after hours as the visiting director?” He asked as he came into her personal space, testing her tenacity. Delightfully, she held her ground. “A bold question from a dancer who has just broken into her own studio, Miss French.”

She blushed just as she had the first day he had met her. He could see the fresh rosy tint under her skin even in the dim light and it earned her a grin, his gold tooth glinting at her discomfort.

“It’s  _Belle_ , and I did not  _break in_ ,” she insisted, her chin jutting up as she held up a silver object. “I have a key.”

He did laugh out loud this time, an unnerving giggle of sorts. The girl was brave, he’d give her that, but she was reckless, too, and he did not have the patience for that. Callum plucked the key away from her and turned out of her reach when she made an impulsive move to grab for it.

“Ah ah, just because you have the  _means_  to enter does not mean you have a _right_  to be here.”

He turned and gestured to her bag.

“Put that down.”

She could have protested, she could have left, but instead she warily shrugged her pale blue duffle bag off her shoulder as requested.

“Now, let’s see what you can do.”

Predictably, the first thing the girl did after her surprise had relented was to reach for her pointe shoes.

“Without those.” Callum toed the bag aside with a smirk, watching closely as she swallowed and nodded.

*

As was no doubt his intent, Belle felt naked without her pointe shoes, and completely ill-prepared for what very much felt like an ambush. Preparation was everything and though she occasionally liked to improvise, for a formal audition it was completely unacceptable unless you made an obvious mistake. Laugher threatened to bubble up born of a kind of nerves-induced hysteria. She had made a pretty obvious mistake by being here in the first place. She was not prepared for an audition and yet he was making her do it  _now_. He could have sent her home, could have called Regina—instead he was toying with her.

To take her mind off of the thought, Belle took out her mp3 player which still had her headphones wrapped neatly around the shiny blue case.  In order to be quiet, she often danced with her headphones in; she meant to remove them so he could hear her music, but as she went to do so he interrupted again.

“Once with headphones in and once without.”

Bemused, Belle’s brow furrowed. It was a strange request, but she had heard of and read much on his eccentric tendencies and unconventional teaching methods. As she had already stretched in the locker room to minimize her chances of being found in the studio, there was nothing for it but to begin.

Belle took her place, took a breath, and pressed play. The music came to life in her ears and for a moment it was easy to tune out the ballet master’s hawk-eyed scrutiny. She had something to prove to him, yes, but also to herself. Shedeserved to be here and to dance, and this felt like her last chance.

_We are shining, we will never be afraid again …_

The music picked up and Belle spun, her leg jetting out as she propelled herself forward, faster and faster, before she stopped on a dime, perfectly controlled. She was off again in the next moment, crossing the room in a series of leaps. Her legs burned, her heart pounded and her feet ached, but in spite of it all, she felt  _alive_. When the music finally slowed and stopped, she opened her eyes and found the same intense gaze as when she had started.  

“Once more with the shoes if you please, Miss French,” he said, an unnerving smirk clear in his voice.

She wanted to correct him, tell him to call her by her first name, but with his tone and the way he said it with his accent, well …

 _Concentrate_. Belle tied on her shoes, tucking the ribbons in, and lifted herself en pointe, to be sure they felt right. As usual, the satin sagged a little, but there was little she could do about that.

“I want you to use the same song as before and put it on the stereo.”

It was a clear challenge, as if he knew what she had listened to and was testing her to see if she would change it to impress him. It wasn’t a traditional piece to be sure, but Belle wanted to do the brave thing. She had been caught breaking into her own studio by a legendary director of her favorite production; her music choices were the least of her worries. Even as she queued her music, she found herself thinking:  _I hope he won’t think too poorly of me._

The shoes made her feel free and she flew across the room, turn after turn, jump after jump, pouring all of her joy, love, and passion for ballet into her performance.

_Fouette, jump, piques, lift higher, extend longer, arms graceful and neck long …_

_Say my name …_

The music softened and slowed, the delicate notes of the harp lingering in the air as Belle twirled to a stop, nearly over rotating in her exuberance. She found herself smack dab in front of Master Gold.

The room was quiet and he looked at her with an even, unrelenting intensity. He offered no critique and no praise; if anything, he showed only a certain satisfaction that she had done as he asked. It could not have been longer than a few seconds, but every moment was agonizing. Just when she thought she would go mad from the lack of sound in the room, he spoke and the words made Belle’s heart soar.

“That,” he paused, his eyes bright. “I can work with.”


	2. Part II

Callum had never particularly enjoyed this time of year; in fact, it usually served to remind him of how lonely he was. Each company was the same: he arrived, dancers auditioned, and he spent the rest of the season nitpicking small offenses in pursuit of perfection. Technical perfection was rare; rarer still was finding a dancer who wasn’t so caught up in their own insecurities that they let themselves be vulnerable. Callum understood the pain of letting others see things that were better kept hidden. Even when his passion had been at its peak it had been difficult to bare his soul that way. Nevertheless, he expected it from his dancers, and he had no qualms about the hypocrisy.

He had seen the elusive and ever-so-tantalizing vulnerability from Miss French—Belle, he reminded himself—the night before and the incident was promising enough to give into the slightest of good moods. Thus, on the way into the studio that morning, Callum found himself whistling a tune through his teeth.

“Good morning, Regina, I trust you slept well.”

As an accompaniment to the cursory greeting, Callum dropped a sheet of paper on her desk. Regina stared at it for a moment while Callum turned his back to pluck a rye bagel from the catering tray.

“You have a cast list already?” Regina raised an eyebrow and Callum turned around with a smile that did not reach his eyes. He was more than used to dealing with Regina’s type and her annoyance brought him pleasure.

“I am nothing if not efficient.” He gave an exaggerated bow and turned to leave the office, the bagel already in his mouth when Regina’s voice stopped him.

“This is not acceptable. Belle is not even a soloist, she cannot be the lead, not even in the second cast, much less an understudy for Mary Margaret,” Regina scoffed. “Besides, you didn’t see her dance.”

“I requested a private audition with Belle when you would not let her show her skills.” Callum raised a hand in an accusatory gesture. “It’s not nice to hide things from me, dearie.”

Regina’s mouth pressed into a thin line, trying to puzzle out when the private audition could have been.

“I wasn’t hiding anything. She’s my dancer and I say she isn’t ready.”

The defensive tone was not lost on Callum.

“You’ve forgotten: it’s my adaption, Miss Mills, one I would be more than happy to pull the rights to if you don’t let me do what you’ve hired me to do.” He bared his teeth at the woman to punctuate his sentences. Instead of flinching back as most did, Regina gave him a calculating once-over.

Regina had never been a fan of Callum’s. Over the years they had watched one another’s careers and as his rose, Regina’s had plateaued. She had done everything right, but she had been continually surpassed. Despite sacrificing everything for ballet—more, surely, than Callum ever had—she had never had his success, his accolades, his  _opportunities_. Opportunities he had squandered when his passion waned. She could never forgive that.

Ballet had been her first love, but it had brought her nothing but disappointment and heartache: she had given her life to the art form, even breaking up with her highschool sweetheart before moving to an isolated boarding school in France to devote herself entirely to dance. When the boy had died in a car crash a few months later, grief had driven her near to quitting, but her mother had forced her to continue. It had all but crushed the life out of her and the only joy she had now was controlling the art through others.

And  _Belle_.

 From the moment Belle had waltzed into the studio with a surprise contract in hand, Regina had resented her. She was young, beautiful, full of tenacity, strength and life.  It was easy to see ballet made her  _happy_ , something it had never done for Regina. 

Not matter how often she tried to dampen Belle’s spirits, to show her the realities of a life devoted to dance, the girl seemed intent on defying her with her frustratingly determined optimism. It was insufferable. Dance had been a cruel mistress to Regina, difficult and unforgiving, and she would be the same to Miss French. Any true dancer had to see that ballet was a beast that would eat one alive if given half a chance. It was a lesson as old as time, yet Belle refused to learn it.

If the production were to go badly, Callum and Belle would look like fools. It was the perfect opportunity to make them both feel something like the crushing disappointment Regina lived with every day.

“Fine, do it your way. She’ll crack under the pressure and if sales suffer, I will hold you financially responsible,” Regina said with a cold smile. It was a ridiculous demand—ludicrous, in fact—but Callum was nothing if not a man with an eye for a bargain. Plus, he had a particular thirst for humiliating those he felt had wronged him. Belle deserved a chance and he could give it to her. He felt his blood quicken with excitement and promise as he gave the first genuine (and equally terrifying) grin of the morning.

“Deal.”

 *

For Belle, the next few days were a whirlwind of congratulations from her friends: Ariel, Jefferson in costuming, and even Archie the piano player. In her blur of happiness and excitement, it had taken Aurora asking after Gavin’s response to remind Belle she had yet to call her fiancé. There had been a ten minute break for water and Belle had gone to the far side of the studio to make the call by the windows. Guilty, she had pressed Gavin’s name next to his somber picture. The dial tone buzzed and buzzed and for a moment she thought she would have to leave a message. Gavin had finally picked up and Belle had to keep herself from immediately blurting out what had happened. After asking how his day had been she finally said:

“I have some news!”

“Oh?” Gavin sounded wary.

“I got a lead part, Gavin! A principal role in the production for the second cast!”

There was a long pause and instead of excitement or even surprise, Gavin had offered a lukewarm congratulations.

“That’s—that’s very nice Belle,” He said as if speaking to an excitable child. There a pause and then he asked, “So you won’t be able to come visit this weekend?” His voice sounded tired and Belle pressed the phone closer to her ear to try and keep the coming storm contained.

Gavin lived in New York and though Belle had wanted to train at a company there, she had not been offered a position. A donor from the conservatory in Maine had seen her audition and had been kind to offer her a contract on the spot. Her fiancé had been less than pleased with her choice to accept the job and, though she told herself and him that the distance would not have an effect, it had.

“Well, I could try to make it work, but this is a big break for me, Gavin. I am finally rising in the company and—”

“Belle, you said this last year when you got that solo, remember? You said this was your last year.” His voice had taken on a patronizing tone and Belle felt ire bubble up in her chest, but to her credit, she kept her voice even.

“ _If_  I didn’t get promoted.”

“But you’re not really promoted, are you? I’m sorry to be blunt, Belle, but this could be a fluke. You said yourself that Regina would never let you be a star and you’re getting older, we discussed this.” His voice was low with tangible frustration and Belle felt her face growing red even though Gavin could not see her. She could see Callum Gold watching her from across the room and turned an even brighter shade of red. She lowered her voice and turned away from his gaze, keeping her head down.

“Yes, so we can start a family.” Belle’s voice sounded exasperated now. She had been with Gavin for years and they had spoken of starting a family, but with the demands of Belle’s career, it was out of the question. “And I don’t want to be a  _star_ , Gavin, I just want to reach my potential.”

“Look, just ... you should enjoy this, but expect things go back to the way they were. That’s all I’m trying to say.”

His voice sounded anything but encouraging. Belle wanted to cry and grind her teeth at the same time. As her partner and a dentist, Gavin would hate both actions and for a moment she savored the possibility of annoying him. He wanted what he wanted and though he claimed to support her, he did nothing but try to talk her out of continuing ballet. He talked of getting married, but more than that he spoke of her becoming a full time wife and supporter of his dental practice. It was not as if Belle never wanted a family, but she was not ready yet. The increasing pressure to follow in the footsteps of many of their friends who were already settled and having multiple children made Belle feel claustrophobic. Starting a family with Gavin simply felt like another way for him to keep her on a leash, instead of the joyful thing she pictured in her innermost dreams.

“Yeah, right. Thanks.” Belle’s voice was flat even to her own ears.

“I’ll see you when you come home, Belle.” Gavin said over the phone, as if he had already decided for her. In that instant Belle didn’t care if the action was childish or not; she hung up on him.

*

“No,  _no_.” Callum called out. “Stop right there, dearie.” Belle and several of the other dancers paused when the music came to a halt. Callum stood up from the folding chair in the middle of the room and made his way to Ariel and Aurora.

He cocked his head to one side in a gesture of frustration at the two redheads in front of him, as his hands moved in an exaggerated manner.

“You’ve got to go higher, lift your frame and I want a perfectly straight leg, none of this  _bending_ nonsense.” He put a hand on the polished wooden barre to take some pressure off of his bad leg as he watched. “Do it again.”

Although Aurora masterfully kept her face serene, Ariel’s bemused expression at the critique stayed in place as she resumed her position.

The music began and immediately Callum had something to say.

“Up and  _point_  ... back two-three and  _lift_.” Both women lifted and turned in tandem. “Straighten out!” Callum barked and crossed the room again, physically lifting Ariel’s leg to the position he wanted, holding her forward and extending her over the box of her pointe shoe. “There, hold that.”

As predicted with nothing to hold on to, the girl sustained the position for only a handful of seconds before lowering herself to the floor, her annoyance clear. The girl was riled and though Callum supposed he was being a bit unfair, someone had to push for excellence. A few were close, but none had been able to blend technical and artistic passion so well as ...

“Miss French,” He gestured with his hand, unable to help his own habits. Ariel raised an eyebrow, which Callum deftly ignored. Belle joined them, a genuine smile on her face—a rarity in his world.

“Now,” he started speaking so that he wouldn’t lose his train of thought. “A demonstration please.”

Across the room, he could see the titled principle Mary Margaret watching the proceedings closely, curiosity and a hint of jealousy in her gaze. Yes, they all wanted his attention and tutelage, but he would only bestow it on those who were worthy. His gold tooth glinted as he smiled and instructed: “Passé relevé, hold a moment, then developpé the rest of the way if you please, dearie.”

Without further ado, the girl did just as he asked, her form nearly flawless, except for ... before he knew it and without fully meaning to, his hand was on her thigh, correcting her rotation and pushing upwards to get the balance just so. Even through her tights he could feel how warm she was and how much control she had over her impossibly strong muscles.

“Just a bit to the left, yes, good.” His voice had gone down an octave and he found his grip tightening as heat flooded his body. He suddenly felt hyper aware of his own physicality. Callum stepped back as Belle balanced, waiting for further instruction. Was he imagining things, or had her face gone pink?

“Very impressive, dearie. Practice with Miss Strand and Miss Briar for a while.”

His dismissal was sudden and he want back to his uncomfortable chair. He crossed his arms as he purposefully turned his eyes to watch the men. His mind stubbornly refused to leave the girl and he wondered if she had felt how his hand had lingered a fraction of a second too long. He had always used hands-on instruction and it had served to make others uncomfortable, not him. Touch was necessary for demonstration and though he had done it and it had been done to him all of his life, he had never had that kind of visceral reaction before. It was entirely inappropriate and would stop there. Besides, had he not just heard her speaking with her partner on the phone? Agitated, he stood again. He distanced himself from Belle and began to bark orders at the men, banishing his uncertainty for the authority he was far more familiar with.

 *

Callum didn’t know what he was expecting later that evening, but a fully prepared and smiling Belle French still managed to catch him off guard. He appreciated that she did not presume to waste his time, nor assume she should not come because he had caught her the night previous. She was hungry to do her best—not only for success. He could see that clearly. She stood at the barre, her feet in fifth position and one hand resting lightly on the glossy wood as she waited patiently for his instruction.

“Good evening, Miss French.”

“Master Gold.” She acknowledged him and for a moment he thought she might ask him to call her by her true name again:  _Belle_. When she did not, he paused to study her, unable to help glancing over her modest outfit. She was not flashy; he liked that too. Too many times he had given private lessons to women in leotards with some kind of bedazzlement or eye searing colors. Belle stood in a light, barely pink leotard that matched her pointe shoes, with nude tights and her hair neatly tucked away in a modest bun.

He cleared his throat to stop his eyes from lingering on her form. “Well, let’s get on with it, dearie.”

The better part of the evening was spent going over the choreography, much of it new. Though Callum was not in the habit of changing his variations in their entirety to suit the dancer, with Belle, it was a natural reaction. She moved so fluidly and her passionate interpretation inspired him in a way he had not felt in years. During the day, he had of course tweaked a step here or there for Mary Margaret, but the principle was calm almost to the point of infuriation. There was an over abundance of grace and not enough fire, at least from what he saw. She was technically always on her best form, hardly making a mistake, and in such, she was elegant but not overly  _inspiring_.

He could see Belle watching, blue eyes full of concentration and excitement at the new variation he had asked her to do for the dance of the sugar plum fairy. As much as the piece was an audience favorite, Callum had never been fond of teaching the steps. It was a complicated, technical piece that was breathtaking when performed correctly, but more often than not, he had to tone down the difficulty instead of having his vision be fully realized. He would give her the piece, his piece as he saw it exactly in his mind and had only been performed once before ...

He frowned at the painful memories that threatened to surface and pushed them back down. This solo was personal for him and though he did not know Belle well, his instincts told him he could trust her with it. His instincts were always right. Besides that, he had already dreamed of her and how she would look as she danced his masterpiece; beauty incarnate. It was certainly too late to turn back now.

“Master Gold?”

The voice brought him back to the present and he found Belle waiting, chest rising and falling with exertion from the combination she had just executed. He blinked at her, staring for a moment before he found his voice.

“Again, Miss French.”

She nodded as she made her way back to her former position. He pressed the remote to start the music and she began anew. Her control was impeccable, though he could see her excitement and energy bubbling just below the surface. That was was made her so tantalizing—so perfect for the art form, he decided. However, youthful exuberance and inexperience as a professional made her imprecise. She was a beat early, and he didn't tolerate silly mistakes.

He paused the music and Belle whirled neatly to a stop.

“Too early, dearie, you must learn to wait for the music to come to  _you_.”

Callum came over to where she stood, and though he told himself he wouldn’t touch her, it was impossible not to. It was part of his job and he would be professional.

“Move your arms like so,” He said, as he ran his fingers along her arms to position them before guiding them into a lift. He counted the beats out loud for her benefit, but his mind was fixated on the sensation of her skin. The electrical thrill was still present, but Callum told himself to ignore the magnetic pull. “Your feet must follow,” He went behind her, hands on her waist so he could straighten her hips. Callum was pleased she did a second demonstration without being asked. He queued the music for a second time as he stepped back to watch.

They practiced the same steps over and over until they were flawless. Belle grinned when she got the combination, fully in time with the music and the steps. He couldn’t help but smile himself.

“That’ll do.” He nodded and after a pause casually asked:

“Your shoes, Miss French, who makes them?” 

“Oh, no one in particular.” Belle tried to brush it off, but Callum frowned at the avoidance.

“They’re not custom to you?” He was unable to help the note of surprise in his voice. Almost every reputable dancer had custom shoes, certainly by the time they were employed by a company.

Belle laughed as she sat and untied the worn ribbons. “We’re starving artists, Master Gold. Not everyone has the means to afford that luxury.” Her voice was light, but he could see that that the issue made her uncomfortable. 

“I see.” Callum eyed her thoughtfully for a moment before he held out his hand. “Your shoes then, if you please.” 

“Why?” Suspicion was in Belle’s face, but she handed the shoes to him and watched as he turned them over in his hands. They were a humble pair to be sure, but strong and sturdy. They would suit.

He finally looked up and gave her a smile that gave away nothing and simply said: “I’ll see you tomorrow, Miss French.”

As he walked out the door, trusting Belle would lock up behind him, he found himself smiling at the rhythm that had seemingly been established. For the first time in years, Callum found he had something to look forward to.

 *

Whatever Callum had done, the next morning Belle’s shoes fit  _beautifully_. They no longer bagged, even when she went up en pointe. They were completely tailored to her. Callum had left the pair neatly tied together, the new satin ribbons in a bow.

At first she thought there must be some mistake, that someone had left a gift for Mary Margaret or another higher ranking member in her locker by accident. However, when she had slipped the shoes on, they were her perfect match and she could not wait to dance in them. As Regina observed for the better part of the morning, sitting perched on the edge of a stool like a vulture, Belle had to remind herself not to smile.

As time wore on, she found she had developed a habit of watching the clock. She never used to be so time focused, preferring to let things come as they would and enjoy the moments that were fully set in the present. Now however ...

Belle bit her lip as she found herself glancing at the clock for the third time that hour. Callum was almost due to observe her and Philip’s partnering and Belle felt butterflies in her stomach as Regina begrudgingly called for a water break. Out in the hallway, Belle watched from above as Callum came through the front doors, a cane in hand. Most of the time Callum was able to walk without a pronounced limp, but on especially damp days, he would come in with a cane that he would use to correct his pupils.

Or so she had read.

As if he could sense her gaze, he looked up. Belle blushed and looked away, immediately going back to where her group of friends sat as they waited for practice to resume. The topic of course was their enigmatic dance master and Belle told herself to pull it together.

Ariel spoke of how would issue commands, his voice barely polite and always sarcastic. Belle countered that she found this almost endearing, but Ariel, rolled her eyes and Aurora gave her a patient smile. 

“He doesn’t seem to have much of an appreciation for an honest effort,” Aurora said.

“Trying isn’t succeeding, dearies.” Ariel did a spot on impersonation, her hand coming up in a all-to-Callum gesture. It was without malice however, more playful than anything as she looked at Belle with sparkling eyes.

“Stop,” Belle shouldered her friend and the group composed their faces as Callum walked into view and then by their group, only to break out in giggles once he was gone. 

“That’s just his style,” Belle said, voice hushed but earnest. “He probably can’t help it.”

Both women rolled their eyes this time.

“Except with you, you mean?” Aurora said with a half smile.

“I don’t know what you mean. We’re—well, not friends exactly, but we work well together and-“

“And I suspect,” The three girls jumped as Gold came up behind them and whispered. “It’s high time you all get back to work.”

Belle herself was bright red as she made her way over to Philip, who graciously pretended she had her usual professionalism in tact as they began their session.

If Regina was a vulture, all doom and gloom as she watched her dancers, Callum was more like a hawk, still until he spotted a mistake and dove in to fix it.

“Wrong.”

The cane moved and touched Belle’s leg, showing her how he wanted her to stand.

“You’re late on the movement,” He hung the cane on the bar to demonstrate. “It’s ya dum da da da  _dum_ , you see. You’re adding in an extra beat.” 

He turned to Philip next. “And you’re getting in her way, dearie, she can’t do as I ask when you’re so close. Give the lady some breathing room and turn out more,” He said as he used his cane to move Phillip’s feet with a grunt.  

“Again,” He said as he moved his cane back so he could tap it on the floor in time to the beats.

Belle nodded, her face a mask of concentration, though her tongue came out as she did the combination again. Philip did as asked and it gave her the freedom to turn a moment sooner than before. Perfect. She smiled in satisfaction and instead of a compliment, she heard an exaggerated sigh.

“Better, do it five times more and we can move on.” Instead of feeling annoyance, she felt determination. She nodded and returned to her starting position with Philip. “And put your tongue back inside your mouth, Miss French, unless you’d like me to bite it off.”

Her earlier blushes were nothing compared to the redness that came over her face now. Belle had flushed such a bright red that (dressed all in green as she had been) Ariel had called her rose in jest for the rest of the day.


	3. Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Finally an update! I am so sorry it's taken this long, I've gone through some massive life changes in a past few months (I landed my dream job and moved to another country!), in addition to my brain deciding to not cooperate when I had time to sit down and write for this. Hope it was worth the wait. <3

“Ah, Belle, do come in.”

Regina gave the young woman a smile that did not reach her eyes as she ushered Belle into her perfectly kept office. Regina kept it tidy as a point of pride and also as a way to unnerve her talent and staff. Creatives liked to be in messy, spur of the moment environments instead of thoroughly organized and meticulously calculated spaces. The young woman in question was undoubtedly confused why she had been summoned, but was doing her best to keep from looking perturbed. This eared a second wolfish smile from Regina.

“I have not had time to congratulate you on your role,” Regina said as she pulled a folder from a sleek filing cabinet. It was a casual gesture that was full of nuance. Belle would know her contract was in the folder.

“Thank you,” Belle said, gracious as ever, though her voice held a note of unsurety.  _Good_.

“As you are already aware, I did not believe you would be a good candidate for the lead role." She watched as Belle sat up a bit straighter, ready defiance and worry at odds in her pretty blue eyes. Regina savored the pause she created before continuing. "However, Callum was quite literally willing to bet on you.” Dark eyes watched Belle closely for her reaction. She was almost sure that Callum would have failed to mention that little detail to his new muse, but she needed to be certain.

“I’m sorry?” True bemusement was in Belle's voice and Regina laughed as the girl’s brow furrowed deeper.  _Perfect_.

“Nevermind, dear,” Regina said condescendingly as she brushed the point away. While she had wanted to make her quip, the information was best saved for a more crucial time. It was infinitely amusing to her that Callum hadn't told Belle of their little wager.

“I wanted to go over your contract.” She opened the folder on her desk. “You’re signed on through May, I see?”

“Yes.”

Regina watched as Belle’s gaze flickered to the papers that held her livelihood and felt the familiar rush of satisfaction at holding another's life in her hands. Nerves aside, Regina could see Belle was different than the girl she had called into her office last September. Belle had been late to arrive for practice; her excuse had been that the plane from New York was delayed due to poor weather, but Regina hadn't taken the frazzled explanation.

It had been sloppy and unbecoming, and her mother certainly would never have accepted such a thing. It was Belle's fault for not planning ahead appropriately. Of course her staff had mistaken Belle's desperation for sincerity and accepted the apology at face value. She had already been signed, so there had been nothing for it. Belle had been put on probation, but it hadn’t had the impact she wished.

Regina began to tap her very red, very well manicured nails on her wooden desk as she perused the contract for show more than content. Watching out of the corner of her eye as Belle shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Meetings like this were certainly a highlight of her job and she let Belle squirm for another long minute before speaking.

"Depending on how your performances go, you do realize it will affect your career with the Company."

It was said as a statement rather than a question and Regina didn't give Belle a chance to answer.

"If you're not up to the task, the board will likely terminate your contract." Regina savored the words as they left her mouth, letting the information sink in before continuing. "However, if you perform as well as Callum continually assures me you will, and trust me dear, he's got a lot riding on you,"  _Let her feel the heat_. "Well then," Her voice brightened with false cheer. "You'll be up for a promotion." Regina folded her hands neatly on top of the contract.

"I understand," Was all Belle said as she began to chew on her lip again. A disappointingly boring response, although the lip chewing meant that Belle was considering her future in an appropriate manner.

"I hope you also understand what kind of man you're working with. Callum and I have been acquainted for years and I assure you, he's quite selfish.” She raised an eyebrow as Belle finally looked up at her. “He may appear to be helping you, but only to further his own ego. If you disappoint him, he's not the sort of man to forgive."

Belle frowned before she finally managed a response.

"Deep down, I don’t think he’s selfish. I think he's a good man, he just doesn't want anyone to know it on the surface."

Regina burst out laughing.

"Oh dear, it's worse than I thought; how naive of you, Belle." She leaned forward over her desk her lips curling up into a sneer. "That man is a beast through and through. Did you know that's what his 'friends' actually used to call him?" From the look on Belle's face, it was clear she did not.

"I thought not." Regina sat back in her chair, not bothering to hide her self satisfaction. "If you truly had his favor, he would do something drastic like alter his choreography for you, and if you don't have his favor you are in danger of jeopardizing your contract." Belle had a strange look on her face that Regina could only imagine was the serious reality of the situation hitting home. "He’s a monster beyond saving and he likes it that way, trust me."

Congratulating herself on her smug parting blow, Regina stood and went to open the door for the silent Belle. Though she had meant her previous words to be her last, she couldn’t help adding as Belle walked past:

"Remember dear, I have your best interests at heart."

*

It wasn't working. Callum watched Belle as she danced through his variation of the Sugar Plum Fairy, her feet were right, her turns impeccable, but it didn't flow. He rocked back on his heels, an index finger going to his lips as he tried to find the disconnect between his dreams and reality. Of course there were small mistakes here and there, but that was not what was distracting him. She didn't look herself, he finally decided. Stifled and forced.

When he turned to watch Mary Margaret, she danced as fluidly as she ever had, light and delicate. When he turned back to Belle, he decided that she was anything but. Belle had a quickness, strength, and fortitude that did not match the meticulous choreography. It had not been fashioned with her in mind and it showed.

Though he had longed to see her dance his steps, he needed to do something different, to see her free of his restrictions. The notion was clear as it was strange to him. He never deviated, especially when he had chosen a piece that was solely of his own making. Belle was perfectly  _capable_ of dancing what he had given her, but it was not what would show off her personality or skill to  _her_  advantage.

He had a deal with himself. Choreography -- brilliant choreography -- borne of a masterful eye and impeccable attention to detail that he could weave into a masterpiece, was a talent that he had vowed to share with no one else after -- well, after. Once the sculpting was done, it could not be undone, the dancer’s potential was made perfect and it was only a matter of time before they took it and ran.  _She’s no different._

Belle’s talent was obviously wasted on the small company and he had to power to change that if she rose to the occasion. He watched as she over rotated a turn and where most dancers might continue on to finish the combination, Belle had already started over. Determined to repeat the process until she got it right.  _Fuck_. Before he could wonder why he was doing something so out of character or change his mind, the words were leaving his lips.

"Come here, Miss French." He tapped his cane on the floor and when Belle stood before him, he looked at her for a moment before saying: "I've decided to give you a new variation." His mind raced as he mentally spun the new choreography, already knowing exactly what he wanted to do.

He watched as her blue eyes widened and he felt a stab of irritation. It wasn't as if he was trying to be kind, he was trying to -- do what exactly? He sure as hell didn’t know anymore.

"Don't look so surprised, dearie." He snapped defensively. "The choreography needs some new life."  _That's all_. It took a moment before Belle was nodding, trying to hide her smile and it was done. It had been that easy and that hard.

Step by step he took each thread of the dance and transformed it, weaving something anew. By the time Belle was ready for her first run through, he could already see a change in her. The choreography was light and playful as it was bold. She was smiling and her damned lip was between her teeth as she spun and spun and spun, breathtakingly beautiful. Indeed, he hadn't realized he had forgotten to breathe himself until his reverie was interrupted.

"A new variation, Master Gold?" It was Mary Margaret at his elbow her voice respectful as always, though he could detect the underlying hint of exasperation. Of course she would be perturbed at the notion of starting her work over again. He smiled, though it was more of a grimace that belied his displeasure at being pulled from a private moment.

"Hardly, Miss Blanchard. You can continue with the variation I've given you."

He watched as the principal's eyes went to Belle.

"I don't understand." She said, and this time she didn't bother to hide her confusion mixed with indignation.

Of course she didn't. He barely understood himself. He was walking a thin line between eccentricity and blatant favoritism, but in the end he was the master and the principle would heed him.

"Miss French has a different skill set and I am merely bringing it to the forefront."

Mary Margaret had the audacity to cross her arms and for the first time, Callum gave her his undivided attention. Of course she would think it was a slight, and in a way, perhaps it was.

"The way the I run my productions is solely up to me, dearie," He said, a whisper of a threat in his quiet voice. Mary Margaret, although still quite clearly dissatisfied, wisely dropped the subject.

“Of course,” She said, without a hint of contrition and Callum barred his teeth in a feral smile.

“Back to work then, Miss Blanchard.”

*

Although she had been doing this for over a three weeks, the nerves in Belle’s stomach still got the better of her when she saw Callum waiting for her in the unoccupied dance studio. He was sitting in his usual folding chair, his cane by his side.

“You’re late, dearie.”

She knew she wasn’t, at least, not really. If anything it was by a minute or two and she couldn’t help by smile at him anyways. Her heart speeding up when she thought about the new choreography he had fashioned for her.

“Or perhaps you’re early?” She said, unable to help the warmth in her voice. Even if it was nothing more than professional favor as Regina had said, he had given her a great gift that she meant to repay wholeheartedly. 

“Last time I checked, I was the dance master. Our time starts whenever I arrive.” He sounded peevish, though after weeks of studying him, she could tell his heart wasn’t really in the rebuke.

“Of course, my apologies, Master Gold.” Somehow she was still smiling as she took her place in front of him, eager to begin. Her feet went to fifth position, arms raised and ready for his instruction. After a few drawn out moments and no further instruction, she raised her eyebrow at him.

He shook his head and got to his feet.

“Let’s see how much you’ve improved.”

After a full hour of tweaking her carriage and lines, Belle felt completely overwhelmed. Although she knew that his choreography was not - and never had been - easy, she was beginning to feel she had severely overestimated her skill. Callum was especially relentless this evening and she could feel his impatience like a tangible entity.

“Again!”

Callum barked out over and over until she had to actively quash the growing frustration she felt with herself for her inabilities. She could not let him- or herself- down, not when she felt she had finally found a part of herself that she had not known existed. Belle tried to picture the steps in her head as she did them, mentally going through each and every movement.

_Move, turn out, pirouette, faster, faster!_

Her feet felt as if they were on fire and her muscles ached, but she pushed through the discomfort. The music suddenly went quiet and she teetered to a stop, like a badly wound top. Callum grunted and she felt her own ire rise.

“I wasn’t finished.”

“You’re finished when I say you’ve finished and tonight, we’re finished, dearie.”

Belle’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re giving up on me,” She accused, before she could think of something wiser to say. The steps were difficult, but she had only gotten them this morning after all!

“We’re an hour over time, Miss French. Your muscles need to rest.” His voice was quieter than she had expected and though she wasn’t sure where else he was supposed to look, he was looking directly at her. His hands were tight on his cane and his eyes darker than she had remembered them being. Was it anger or ...?

Belle felt her face heat more than it was already and she tried to tell herself that it was a mixture of anger and concern.

“Alright.” Though Belle had often been told curiosity killed the cat, she couldn’t help another look at Callum’s face. They both stared at one another, the world around them dark and silent as their eyes locked. His brown eyes looked nearly black and it wasn’t until Belle had begun to feel lightheaded that she realized she had stopped breathing.

Callum was the first to look away and she she felt as if someone had snapped a taut cord between them.

“Goodnight, Miss French.”

His accent was thicker than she had ever heard it before, deep, dark, and rich. She swallowed and managed a murmured goodnight herself before she went to the locker room to change, her mind spinning nearly as fast as her feet had been.

*

"What's going on?"

Belle delayed answering the question by taking a sip of the peppermint mocha that her red haired friend had bought her. Ever to the point, Belle could see that Ariel wouldn't take a simple 'Nothing, I'm fine, really.' as an answer. It was something that Belle loved about her and in truth was relieved that she hadn't had to bring the subject up herself.

"It's Gavin."

Technically she supposed it was more than just Gavin, but her ever absent fiancee was a good place to start.

"And what's the brute done now?"

Ariel had never warmed to Gavin and Belle supposed it was because he had never seemed very interested in getting to know her friends. The first time Belle had introduced them, Gavin had offered little more than a polite smile and cursory answers to Ariel's attempts to make conversation. The second time when Belle had brought Ariel back with her to New York for a visit, he had barely said hello before excusing himself to go sit in his den.

Belle had of course been cross with him, and Gavin had told her that she had overreacted to his attempts to give her space. Belle had retorted that she made an effort with his friends, and Gavin had sullenly agreed to give Ariel a tour of his house and his gun collection. Far from impressed, Ariel's look clearly conveyed that there was something seriously wrong with a man who loved both hunting and teeth.

At the end of the exposition, Ariel had asked: "So I take it you're a fan of Pachacuti?" And unable to help herself, Belle had burst out laughing at the reference to the fifteenth century Incan ruler who had a penchant for pulling out teeth of his victims and turning them into charms. Ariel, in turn, had smiled politely, while Gavin had looked confused. Leave it to Ariel to use her archeological expertise to make a joke that she knew full well would go over Gavin’s head.

"It's about what he's not doing, actually." Belle unhappily swirled her cup around and looked down at her engagement ring. Even after a year the piece of jewelry still felt foreign on her finger. She never wore it at the studio but on a whim she had put it back on before leaving for coffee.

“He expects me to visit him regularly, but he has only come out to see me once.” Belle twisted the ring around her finger as she spoke. “I want him to see me perform and he said that it’s not a good time, but it never is.”

“If it’s important to you, it should be important to him,” Ariel said firmly.

“That’s what I keep trying to tell him,” Belle said as she chewed her lip and looked out of the window at the traffic outside the shop. “Words have never particularly had a strong effect on Gavin so I’ve ... well I’ve given him an ultimatum.”

“Yes?” Ariel brightened and Belle gave her a ‘be nice’ look.

“Yes. If he doesn’t come to my opening night as lead, I don’t think our relationship is going to work.”

Ariel reached out and squeezed one of Belle’s hands with her own.

“Look, I know you know that I’m not Gavin’s biggest fan, but Gavin aside, you deserve to be in a relationship with a man who will put you above his own wants.”

“Thank you,” Belle said as she squeezed back. This was hard and it wasn’t something she wanted to take lightly, but still, if Gavin couldn’t compromise and expected her to do all of the work in the relationship, then Ariel was right, she did deserve better. Her mind flickered to Callum. He - a world renowned dance master - had compromised for her and they were not even in a relationship. She felt her face heat at the sudden inappropriate thought that being in a relationship with Callum Gold would actually be quite a wonderful thing, if only because she could-

“Belle?” Ariel was giving her a quizzical look and Belle jerked back to the present.

“Sorry,” Belle shook her head as if to clear it. Even if her relationship was in jeopardy, it was completely inappropriate to think of her dance master in such a manner. “I’m a bit worked up with the show and Gavin.”

She could tell that Ariel did not buy the explanation and knew that her red haired friend knew quite a bit more than she wanted when Ariel cheerily shifted the subject to their delphian dance master, her green eyes shining.


End file.
